


in footsteps we follow

by DivineProjectZero



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, POV Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineProjectZero/pseuds/DivineProjectZero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home is where the heart is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in footsteps we follow

Sound of footsteps against wood. Creaking of door. Smell of home.

"Welcome back, Sherlock."

Open eyes. Take in living room of 221B Baker Street. Exactly same as left. Focus on figure standing by window. Observe greying blonde hair, color of dishwater, perhaps in need of trim. Fringe starting to reach eyebrows. The favored striped jumper, stained on left sleeve. Mouth almost smiling. Eyes still blue as ever.

John Watson, still the same. Still failing at the Sunday crossword. Still wearing hideous jumpers. Still fond of you. Still wonderful, lovely, John.

You are not the same. You are not the same Sherlock Holmes that left. 

Inform John: "I killed four men."

John's almost smile still there, but now tinged with sorrow. How? So little alteration to posture, to expression, yet fond smile now sad.

"I know." John still by windows. Distance intolerable. Move. Walk closer. Listen to his voice amplify as distance shrinks. "Do you want to talk about it? It's fine if you don't."

Stand in front of John. Smell tea and oak. Hidden scent of gun oil. Breathe. "They were disorganized. Sloppy. They didn't expect me at all. Only one of them was armed and his aim was horrible. You're much better. You're better than everything." Watch John almost laugh. Don't take his hand. "You would have laughed. They were pathetic."

"It's not nice." John takes your hand. Warm, callused hands. Feel fingers brush knuckles. Suppress shiver. "We can't laugh. It's a crime scene."

Feel tips of John's fingers trace inside of right wrist. Shudder.

"Everything is a crime scene now." John's hands cradle yours. Miraculous. Perfect. Try not to kiss him. Will ruin everything. 

"It's alright. It's over now." 

"No. No, not yet." Watch hands. Do not look at John's face. Looking will be bad. Very bad. Loss of control will be inevitable. Focus on hands. Count the scars on John's left thumb. "There's still Moran."

"Almost over, then." Grip on hands tightened. Indicative of encouragement? Stress? Anger? Cannot tell without seeing John's face. Don't look.

"Yes."

"Sherlock."

Hands on yours. Tugged. Voice different. Not commanding. Not pleading. Requesting. Can't resist. Can't deny John. Look at John's blue eyes, the same color as the sky lighting up earliest at dawn. Clutch John's hands tighter. Instinctive reaction. Not entirely conscious. Impulse. 

Listen to John inhale. Glorious. Feel John's left hand leave your clutch. Feel warmth on your right cheek. Feel your heartbeat in your throat. "Sherlock, I--"

Interrupt John. "Not yet." Voice hoarse. Clear throat. Swallow heart back down. "Not now. I have to leave."

John sighs. "I'll tell you when you come back."

"Yes." Pause. Tell him. "I'm not coming back here."

John's smile. Different again. Barely any change in facial muscle movement. Yet smile now wry. "I figured."

John's hands, so warm. Hurts to pull hands away. 

"I can't." Guilty. Why feel guilty? "I can't come back here. You're not my home. I'm sorry."

Home. Home is where the heart is. Not here. 

"Don't apologize." Sweet John. Beloved John. Not  _your_  John. "Stay safe. Goodbye."

Don't kiss him. Walk away. Turn head. Resist temptation. 

Stop.

Turn head. Look at John. The love of your life.

"When I come home, I'll say it first." Promise. "Wait for me."

"I'll be waiting." John, loyal to the end. 

Look away. Don't shatter.

Walk away quickly. Close door behind you. Walk. Far away. Leave.

Exit Mind Palace.

Open eyes. Take in interior of small German warehouse. Observe concrete floor. Stand. Review blueprints. Examine weaponry. Load bullets. Check. 

From here:

Confront Moran. 

Return to London. Go home. Tell John.

Don't look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Also published on my tumblr.


End file.
